Formua Bum

1

Life is full of surprises, some of them good, and I am still glowing from a recent one, which occurred just after I submitted 'Ebba and Flow.' Out of the blue, or internet, arrived a message from an apparently antipodean woman, who had been sampling my stories, and was proposing we might 'meet' during her forthcoming sojourn in the UK. With the directness with which her compatriots are credited she attached images of herself, fore and aft. Naked. The pics took my breath away, and I spent a happy half-hour zooming.

I was astonished at first that she should have chosen me, but her message explained that her stay would be short, and she didn't want to waste time seeking someone to answer her permanent. need for immediate gratification. Besides, I was post-menopausal, so fit for purpose without possible delay. She herself, aged 53, was also beyond the bleeding. Such pragmatism didn't offend me, especially given the opportunity on offer

She was trusting me not to publish her photos, so I must resort to description, pending later responses to the realities. She is versed in art-history, so I wasn't surprised, but was amused, by her reference to the images. It said, 'I hope the attached will help to Ingresiate me with you.' I was reminded of my own past dealings in (erotic) art, which she was obviously familiar with. There is a painting by Ingres called 'La Source' ('The Spring'), depicting a naked young woman with a water-pot on her left shoulder, and my correspondent had adopted the same posture, but bearing a surf-board in place of the jar. There was also a cryptic remark that I should have my own surf-board to hand.

The Ingres girl's nakedness is actually anti-erotic, since her breasts are pubescently asexual and she is pussyless. The 24 Carat, Force 12 sexuality of the emailed images has all the more impact, as I hope to indicate.

The most obvious feature of the face-on photo was her bush of fiery red hair - her thatch, because it was a huge mass of fine, tightly curling interwoven filaments. Beneath it was a wedge-shaped face, broad of forehead, tapering to a pointed chin. The complexion was smooth, honey-coloured, much freckled. Her age was indicated in the deep crow's feet beside the enormous, dark-green eyes. Her dark orangey-pink mouth was tilted a little to one side in a grin. As for her other burning bush, it was short but abundant and shaped in a crescent, with the horns pointing up either side in the groin. In colour it was a little darker - marmalade. And zooming in enabled me to peer through the thicket and study the upper reaches of her, also orangey-pink, labia, and marvel at the jutting spur parting them at the apex.

Not deep-bosomed, but the breasts full and firm, utterly adult, with areolas exactly matching the labia in colour, with nipples erect and long. And the rear view?

The shoulders slope down into a narrow waist, and from it there swells out a bottom to rival, even surpass that of Alex, from earlier stories. Muscle, with a thin layer of cushioning, honed by vigorous exercise, smooth, and so tight in the cheeks and firmly fleshed it looks as if it would resonate like a tuning-fork if you struck it.

2

This raises the question of how one might assess and categorise bottoms.

Excursus a posteriori: I think we may agree that, a priori, bottoms exist. But my question is: What, a posteriori, makes a bottom beautiful?

Scientists have studied the matter, and as someone who has passed examinations in physics, chemistry and biology, and who has done extensive hands-on research herself, I'll venture some answers.

An empirical study, based on a survey of posteriors agreed by a sample of judges, to be the most attractive, concluded that the desirable ratio of waist:bum measurements is 0.70. Apparently women who are especially admired as arsetractive approximate this number. For instance, the Beyoncé waist to bot ratio (26/40) is 0.65. In my case, with a waist at 28 inches and a bottom at 42 inches the ratio is 0.67. Which, for an elderly lady like me, is impressive, don't you think? I should add that below the actual waist there is something of a bow window nowadays, which a kind transwoman described as a handy cushion to lie on.

Then there is the optimum angle of the cheeks outcurving from the base of the spine. This is, apparently, 45 degrees. Quite difficult to measure on yourself, but I stood in profile before a mirror and traced the outline with lipstick on the glass. The result was 42 degrees. So, mine juts out a bit more abruptly than the ideal.

The research does not seem to take into account the buttock-depth. What do the cheeks do when the curve turns downwards? Do they continue to bulge outwards, and if so, by how much? Mine go quite a way east as they also proceed southwards. They also expand in the other dimension.

There is, apparently, a formula for arsessment: (S+C) X (B+F) / (T-V), where:

S=Shape; C=Circularity; B=Bounciness; F=Firmness; T=Texture; V=Waist:Hip Ratio. The obvious problem with these variables is that they need defining and ranges of value. For example, 'bounciness' is not a good quality, we are told, so, on a scale of 1-10 would an especially bouncy bum be graded 1? And how does this differ from 'firmness'? Can you have a firm, un-bouncy bottom, or a flabby, bouncy one? 'Texture' presumably means skin surface. Who judges 'shape,' 'circularity' and 'texture'?

Well, after consultation with some persons acquainted with my sit-upon, and assuming a scale of 1-10, in which 10 is excellent, and 'un-bounciness' gets a good score, here is the formula applied in my case:

(7+7) X (7+6) / (6-0.67) = 14 X 13 / 5.33 = 34.15

Whether that is a 'good' score or not may become apparent using the figures for Alex:

(9+9) X (9+9) / (9-0.60) = 18 X 18/ 8.40 = 38.57

Let us now derive the total for the ideal derriere, accepting that 0.7 waist:bot figure:

(10+10) X (10+10) / 10-0.7 = 20 X 20 / 9.3 = 43.01

I must say I am rather pleased with my result. I invite other ladies to apply the formula and let me know their figure, in all senses.

3

Meanwhile, back to my correspondent's proposal. I thought it would be only fair to email her a couple of shots of the Norma dorsal and ventral surfaces, so had to get myself photographed in the altogether. This was accomplished with an attempt to reciprocate the art history, so I posed as Aphrodite Kallipygos, looking over my shoulder to admire my pratt. I have to admit it is a little larger in proportion to the rest of me than hers, but the shape itself is not too dissimilar. As for the front view, well, none of the Classical statues have big enough breasts, and I'm really quite proud of mine and wanted to represent myself adequately.

Since my impending companion was landing nearby I drove to pick her up. It was agreed she would stay with me for her first night here. And my Aphroditarse hadn't put her off, it seemed.

Of course, it was not difficult to identify her, even dressed, because that fiery mane alone would have done the trick. But she turned out to be six or seven inches taller than me. The long flight had not wearied her at all, either, for she strode straight at me, dropped her duffle-bag, effortlessly lifted me off the concrete and fetched me a long, lip-squelching kiss. Then she put me down and said, 'Norma, you're a sight for sore thighs, after that plane seat. Thank you for taking me in. Well, some of me, anyway.' Her accent wasn't antipodean at all, to my surprise, and she explained at once, 'I've come from down-under, but I'm actually a flying Dutchwoman.'

'You're entirely welcome, whatever your roots,' I said, 'But they probably explain your height and colour, and I might be able to help with those thighs.'

As she picked up her bag and we set off for the car-park I took in her outfit. She was in a close-fitting cream-coloured sweater and a flared dark green skirt, swirling in the stiff breeze, no stockings, and large dark-brown trainers. When she registered my admiring gaze she took my hand and swung our arms back and forth in infectious exhilaration. She crackled with energy and joie-de-vivre.

There was no need for small-talk. We were at once at ease, and content to wait to be alone for further conversation, but when we reached and got into my car, regardless of any spectators, she leaned over from the passenger-seat, put her right hand behind my neck and drew me into a long, tongue-twining kiss. She tasted of orange-juice and toothpaste.

When she withdrew a little she said, 'Norma, I need right now. Can you just ease me off? It'd be quickety-quick.'

I've had a few quicketies in my time, but this was almost instant. Naturally, however, I was ready to oblige and slipped a hand under the hem of the sweater and ran it up to her bra.

She said, 'Those'll wait. Just lickety-clit.'

Fortunately there was no-one nearby, though I don't think she would have cared if there had been, and my right hand was soon at her knee and travelling up her supposedly travel-worn thighs. She hitched her bottom forward in the seat and leaned back as my fingers reached where her knickers would have been, had she been wearing any.

'Took 'em off in the plane,' she said, 'In case there was a chance for this.'

I just had to turn back the skirt and see that burning bracken for real. She opened her legs and my index finger felt between them and landed on the orangey-red shark's-fin protruding from the vulval furrow. She jerked at the contact, and, with a little difficulty, I leaned over and down to rest my left cheek on her right thigh and extended my tongue. She smelt of salt and soap, and that indescribable meaty scent that even the cleanest pussy smells of. But I didn't pause to sip the wine, I inserted my tongue into the groove between the lip and the slit and slid it up and down.

She was right to predict it would be speedy, for within ten seconds she was saying, 'Oh, Norma, darling, I'm coming,' and with an involuntary jerk of her hips and a long, breathy sigh, she welcomed her orgasm, 'Oh, yes, that's it. So sweet. Thank you.'

I lifted my head and sat up into my seat again. She put the hand back round my neck and drew me into another long kiss. After it ended she said, 'I love to taste myself like that. Later there will be much more. You'll see. Would you like me to lick you off, too?'

'Kind offer, but I can wait till we're home and a little more private.'

She laughed. 'One advantage of coming so quick is you can even do it in a crowd.'

4

At home, I heated up the prepared meal. We ate it, I stacked the dishwasher, while she showered. And so to bed.

Since her initial orgasmic need was satisfied, there was no tearing hurry. She insisted on undressing me first, and clearly enjoyed peeling off shirt, skirt and bra, at which point she stood back, inspected me, and said, 'Those are fantastits, you know, Norma. The photo didn't do them justice. Look at those delicious nips coming out to play. I just have to suck.' And she did, and they stood to attention all the more. They could stand all the attention she cared to give them. She cradled my breasts in her hands so tenderly it brought tears to my eyes.

'Now for the grey eminence in those knickers,' she said, slowly pulling them down. 'I've never seen so distinguished a puss before, and your temples are hardly touched. No, this is your temple, isn't it?' She turned me and patted my bottom. 'Now, let's lie down.'

Off came the shoes, sweater and skirt and there she stood a moment in her bra. As she removed it my heart turned over. She was even more magnificent than I had anticipated. The little movements of her breasts as they settled added that livingness which no photo can offer.

Then we were lying in each other's arms, stroking backs, gazing into eyes, soon kissing. I felt as if I were diving into a warm pool of pleasure. Her long fingers slid down my crack and turned in under my cheeks gently probing into my vulva and vestibule. Then she disengaged herself, rolled me only my back and resumed her sucking and nibbling of my nipples, at the same time smoothing a hand down my stomach and ruffling the upper edge of my grizzled pelt.

She was one of those lovers whose love-making flows so smoothly from stage to stage you hardly know what they are doing. For, after what was probably ten minutes which lasted an epoch, I found she had opened me up without my consciously knowing and was lipping my clitoris. At the same time two fingers were flexing within my vagina. The whole progress was like a slow conjuring trick, in that I didn't follow her movements until the end point was upon me. But it was no trickery, since the dawning orgasm was wonderfully real.

Of course, she tracked it all the way from initial tingling to total possession, slowing her tongue and fingers, holding me against her, crooning with delight, until I was spent and every nerve was aglow.

4

We lay in an affectionate hug awhile. Then I said, 'I don't think that preliminary come did much more than warm up a bit.'

'True for you, Blue,' she said, 'And that was just a clit-bit. Can you do me a tit-bit?'

Of course I could and would, and thus induced an event I have not often come across, the nipplegasm. Oh, you should have seen and felt the way those superb bosoms expanded, the way those orangey-pink areolas gathered and puckered. I sucked and licked each in turn, fretting the one not in my mouth with finger and thumb. Her orgasm seemed to swell within those hardening breasts and erupt through those rigid nipples.

'I'm a lucky girl, Norma,' she said, 'Nestling into my semi-swelled bosom. I can come so many ways. And I like to do it in sequence. First clit, then tit, then -'

'Let me guess,' I said, 'Then slit?'

'That's right. It's wonderfully wet by then, waiting to suck your fingers. But maybe we should take care of you first.'

'Oh no,' I said, 'I can't wait to complete the sequence. My fingers are itching to stir up a storm.'

'Well now,' she said, 'You've spoken true without knowing, because the storm in there means thunder, lightning and downpour.'

'You're a squirter! I've never seen a woman ejaculate in real life.'

'Then you may need a raincoat, or -'

'The surfboard you were toting.'

'You wondered about that, then?'

'Yes. And now I'm wondering how to raise the waves.'

'It'll be fun to tell you as you do it. You'll need your tongue and two or three fingers. It's all down, and I mean down, to clit and slit. Nothing complicated. You've done it a thousand times before. The tits are done for now. Still deflating, you see.'

I wriggled down the bed as she parted her legs, and I homed in on that unusual clitoris. Intrigued from my first inspection in the airport carpark I studied it further. It protruded from the northernmost limits of her vulva, which had already opened, thanks to the swelling of the inner lips. The clitoris stuck up in a bright crimson protrusion, like the corner of a piece of paper, though thicker, because it was triangular, with its glans at the apex, hardly visible within the enveloping hood. Its maximum height from its vulval base was perhaps half an inch. It was clearly engorged but it felt more spongey than rigid under my tongue. It was also exquisitely sensitive, for only the lightest touch was tolerable.

I ran a hand up her thigh and it glided up on a film of cuntish secretions, so that two fingers slid into her through the open vestibule. She let out a little cry of joy as I crooked the digits and felt along the upper wall of the vagina, seeking that slightly rough area which is the famous G-spot.

'Oh, that's the spot,' she said, 'Now scratch.'

I have done quite a deal of geeing up the G, and I knew you have to feel for the right amount of pressure to apply, the right amount of friction, the right amount of travel with the finger-tips, the right stroke-speed. You find it through sensing her eagerness and excitation. With this one the pace was quite slow, with plenty of digging into the tissue. At the same time the tonguing needed to be brisk, though gentle.

We both entered a trance-like, timeless state, totally absorbed in her sensations, which I intuited in my own vagina, which seemed to quiver within and issue its glaze as if I, too, were progressing towards the climax. And then she said, 'It's coming, Norma. Slowly this way. The come has to flow, like a man's come. Oh, it's almost there...Now!'

So, for the first time in my life I received the spray on my chin, my throat, my chest. It was hot and thin, more watery than juicy, and it jetted forth five or six times as she ground her bottom onto my hand, trapping my fingers. She uttered a series of shrieks, coincident with the spurts, and then suddenly went limp, as if in a faint.

I was slightly alarmed at first, seeing myself hastily removing my hand from her vagina and doing CPR. How would I explain the situation to the paramedics, two naked women, dripping with female ejaculate? But hardly had I withdrawn the hand than she opened her eyes, looked into mine, and said, 'There is a heaven on earth, you know, Norma, and I've just been there.'

'Sending you there was certainly interesting for me,' I said. 'How often can you do that? Amazing the amount you can shoot.'

'It's a strange thing, but we women seem to be able to make more than men. Back in there, under the good old G-spot, there seems to be a better reservoir than the prostate. And I could probably gush as much again. But now it's your turn.'

'I've never overflowed like that,' I said. 'The best I can do is some extra oozing just before I come.'

'I'm looking forward to that,' she said. 'And I think you're a bum-freak like me.'

'Right. And you have about the most beautiful bottom I've ever seen.'

'I had a nice girl lover a while ago who said, "Your bum makes me come." But yours is a beauty, too, you know, Norma. I did a lot of tossing off with your photo, and I'm going to enjoy the real thing now. Turn over!'

I obediently lay on my front. She had me raise my hips and slipped a pillow under me. 'That shows it off,' she said, 'And makes it easier to get at your cunt. I'm going to get you off and dangle my tits on those gorgeous cheeks. That way I can have a nipple come.' She slid a hand under my chest, so a breast was being pressed into the palm. Then she ran a hand up the inside of a thigh and felt gently for my opening. At the same time I felt her breasts come to rest on my cheeks. This, too, was quite a new sensation - breast to bottom was not something I was familiar with, but it was exciting and not just from its novelty. I felt a great tenderness as she brushed that sweet bosom back and forth, and the feeling combined with the increasing pleasure generated by her fingers buried in my twat. The position helped her to press down into the front wall, seeking my G-spot.

My breasts engorged, and the caressing of my bottom seemed almost to cause it, too, to swell. I had the illusion for a time that my cheeks were expanding. Meantime those probing fingers were working their magic.

'You're nearly there, aren't you?' she said, 'You're making more juice. I'm going to come when you do. Enjoy our coming, dear Norma.'

'I'm coming now,' I told her, involuntarily clenching my cheeks and pushing back at her active fingers. 'Oh, that's so lovely!'

She crushed her tits against my hard arse, uttering little whimpers of ecstasy. My orgasm radiated out from her fingers, like a hot tide, filling my cheeks, exquisitely aware of her nipples broadcasting her climax throughout her system.

5

Later, I applied the formula to her bottom:

(10+9) X (9+10) / 9-0.63 = 19 X 19 / 8.37 = 43.49

Better than perfect!